Alchemy Gone Akward: Goodbye, Budapest, hello, poptart-kitty!
by MomotsukiNezumi
Summary: Loki has been compared to having "a bag of cats" for brains by Dr. Banner during the Invasion. However, no one ever questioned if he actually liked the furry things. So when the god of mischief appears in Central Park one afternoon with a most unusual companion, the Avengers must ask themselves: Is it food, or is it a pet? Either way, Thor doesn't quite get it.
1. Wherein Loki isn't quite dead

**This makes story #25 here, and to celebrate, I've devised this little crack!fic, crafted out of a friend asking a rather interesting set of questions: _We all know that Thor has a fondness for poptarts, so why hasn't anyone on Midgard introduced him to the wonders of the Poptart Nyan-cat yet? Or if they did, what would he do? Would he try to eat it, since it's part delicious, artificially flavoured dessert? Would he keep it as a pet? Would he think it an abomination of nature and try to smash it with his hammer or strike it with lightning? And where would the Nyan-cat even come from?_**

**The questions were asked, and then an image of Loki's "bag of cats crazy/army of cats/He _is _a cat and Thor is likewise a big fluffy Golden Retriever" meme popped into my Mind Palace, and then...this happened. I don't have a clear idea of long this story will be, but it's likely to last for at least several chapters.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters or places of Marvel's _The Avengers _or the famous internet phenomenon of Nyan-Cat, but I do own this version of the kitty in question for the purpose of this story. **

**Rated "T" for mass quantities of mischief, swear words, some violent fight scenes, PTSD flashbacks, and Loki trolling the universe and defying the laws of physics on a regular basis.**

* * *

Agent Natasha Romanoff had, in her line of work, seen a great many strange and unusual things, including, as of recent years, a giant alien invasion of New York that seemed to have come straight out of the wet dreams of every diehard sci-fi member on the planet.

She had seen gods battle each other in a maelstrom of power strong enough to leave lightning blasting out of the sky and leave every building in the city shaking as people ran pell mell in a mad race to evacuate, screaming, tiny figures seeming like ants in danger of being crushed beneath the heel of some larger force. She had seen a billionaire in a self-made suit of armor fly a nuclear warhead to outter space, in order to protect his city from becoming Ground Zero all over again. She had seen her partner, one of the few people in the universe she might call friend, become possessed by a mad blue energy that led her to fight him, and her instinct to eliminate the threat he posed. She had watched as the organization that called itself S.H.I.E.L.D. brought together some of the world's strangest, most dangerous misfits together to protect their homeworld, even if that meant avenging its smoldering corpse in the end.

But this...this was _not _her division.

Up on the rooftop of the nearest brownstone several feet away, Agent Clint Barton, also known as Hawkeye, was also confused by the rather bizarre sight down below.

"Nat...are you seeing this too?"

The redhead nodded silently, digging her fingernails into her palms to see if the pain would be enough to shock her out of whatever hallucination this was.

Sitting upon the topmost branches of the nearest large tree, the alien would-be-king and mischief god Loki was perched, a long, thin rod of ink-black yew wood dangling carelessly from one slender pianist hand, the runes carved into the wood glowing faintly green, like the hot, dying embers of a witch's fire on a moonlit night.

Unlike the other times that the Avengers had encountered him, Loki appeared completely unconcerned with causing any sort of havoc. He was bereft of his usual golden armor and leathers, and instead was clad in a somewhat more stealthy apparel for New York's "urban jungle sprawl" environment, this one seeming to leave him looking much less like an invading space Viking and much more like a wealthy Bohemian college student with a flair for the 1960's British Invasion punk movement.

But it was not the converse sneakers, the black ripped skinny jeans, or even the artfully-ripped Black Sabbath shirt and dozens of leather armbands and riotous rainbow plethora of mismatched beads and spikes.

It was the completely bizarre creature curled up on his lap, purring loudly. The creature that, at first glance, appeared to be only a rather chubby grey tomcat with short whiskers and pawpads like tiny strawberries.

But both Agents had seen Budapest, and even Budapest had not prepared them to see a cat whose entire torso appeared to be made up of a giant, sprinkle-studded strawberry poptart.


	2. Restraint, Pranks, and a missed shot

**A/N: Thus, we get part 2 of this madness. Please note that I have no real prior experience writing for any of the Avengers, or for that matter, Loki, so OOC scenes may or may not occur. **

**NOTE: My personal opinion is that Loki might actually appreciate cats, given that, much like him, they are elegant, cunning, fey-like creatures, they don't care for others' opinions, and if they don't like you, they make sure you know. They are hunters, creatures of the night, and are perfectly willing to manipulate those around them for their own benefit (given the way house cats are pampered by humanity, even with their demands for attention and love). Cats also have been associated for centuries with witchcraft, being regarded as witches' companions, walkers and seekers of doors between realms, and in some places, bringer of changes in fortune or even deities themselves, disguised in smaller forms. Yet at the same time, cats are revered for their capacity for affection, their intelligence and charm, and their resilience against a much bigger world.**

**Thus, the idea of Loki being associated with those sharp-eyed, claw-wielding little hellspawns makes perfect sense to me (although being referred to as "bag of cats crazy" put me in mind of "going-to-be-drowned sack of kittens" instead of a simple 1-dimensional antagonist). The Nyan-cat he has on his lap is a bit special, though, and not only because the furry creature has a giant poptart for a torso.**

**This crack!fic, for future information, takes place after _The Avengers _and, in some ways, after _Thor 2: The Dark World. _Since most stories set in this universe take place in an AU where Loki seems to repeatedly return to New York City and spread mass mischief by routinely throwing the laws of Physics out the window like Tony, in this universe, Frigga was horribly wounded from the battle but ultimately survived (Thor and Loki still went to kill Malekith, as it was very uncertain whether she would survive the injury, so vengeance for a looking-likely-to-die Frigga was sought). **

**In addition to this, Loki survived the stabbing in Svartalfheim but left the throne of Asgard be (I dislike Odin but I'll let him keep the throne, as I think Loki has the skills required, but not enough patience for permanent rule over the land that disliked him so much, given that they didn't respect him beforehand when he took the throne in the first _Thor _film. Instead, Loki has left Asgard permanently, seeking to live somewhere without a lifetime of painful memories. Do Odin or Frigga know he lives? ...You'll see.). **

**Instead, our favorite Norse God of Mischief has taken up residence on Midgard, free to live out life on his own without fear of being hunted down and executed so long as he keeps himself out of the sight and hands of human authorities (Thor, at least for now, doesn't know that Loki survived, but given how he's been fooled into thinking him dead before, it isn't very surprising). **

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the pop cultural references, songs, characters, or places shown in this. **

* * *

Steve Rogers, known also as Captain America, looked on at the bizarre sight before him with both apprehension and a good bit of confusion as he reminded himself that, since aliens had invaded New York city, finding an alien once-prince cuddling with what appeared to be a cat crossed with a packaged, sugary snack food should not be so hard to believe.

The call for the Avengers to assemble had been issued by Director Fury, after a street camera by Central Park spotted the dark-haired marauder twirling the stick of yew wood (Fury outright refused to acknowledge it properly as a wand in the debriefing) back and forth between his thin fingers, conjuring flashes of brightly-coloured sparks and soap bubbles, apparently for the amusement of the bizarre creature curled up on his lap, watching the magical light show with bright, button-round eyes.

Frowning slightly, he turned to the man beside him. "What do you make of this? I don't...I don't really know what to do here."

Given the circumstances, it wasn't surprising.

They had seen Loki in Stuttgart, sharp-tongued and vicious, imperiously commanding the gathered humans to kneel before him after he had taken out someone's eye. He had been wild-eyed, his voice a sharp, demanding roar, terrifying and mesmerizing all at once, as if speaking in storms.

They had seen Loki imprisoned upon the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, a pane of bullet-proof glass the only barrier separating a mad, cunning god from the valuable technology and hundreds of humans aboard. He had paced the glass cage, taunted and sing-songed, a feral being, in full view of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s surveillance equipment, and yet the unsettling aura of his presence persisted to keep everyone else balancing on a knife edge.

They had seen Loki, wrists chained and shackled, a muzzle silencing his tongue, binding his mouth shut in a way both effective and cruel. Steve had been reminded of the Norse myth involving that same mouth being sewn shut at the strange, unsettling sight, and the cold gaze of the chained alien had served to leave many a night since haunted with half-forgotten nightmares. He had seen victims of war from his own time, and though he would never, ever group Loki into the same category as those who had suffered the horrors of the war camps and the sickening hells of civilian oppression and wartime cruelty, the blank, empty expression in those ancient eyes had reminded him frighteningly of those who had come out of the war as empty shells of their former selves, bereft of purpose and left to wonder what had gone wrong, what they had done wrong, when did it all _start _and when did it _end._

When Thor had come to them several months ago, he had told them, albiet a bit shakily, that Loki was dead, having perished from a stab wound while fighting alongside him in Svartalfheim, and that Odin had releaved him of his duties as crown prince, leaving him free to pursue a life here on Earth with his lover Jane.

The reactions had been mixed.

Jane was silent about the matter, but would embrace Thor whenever possible. Darcy reacted similarly. Dr. Selvig was rather happy about the news, but given his time spent under mind control, no one could blame him.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had removed Loki's file from the _Off-World Enemy _list.

Clint, a look of dark satisfaction briefly flashing in his eyes, had spent the day practicing archery on moving targets provided in Stark Tower's semiofficial training zone. Natasha had accepted the news with a curt nod, silent and unruffled.

Tony had shaken his head, muttered something about missed drinks, and then vanished down to his workshop for the day.

Bruce had sighed, giving Thor a brief shoulder squeeze for emotional support, and handed him a bucket-sized mug of calming tea.

Now, months later, it appeared that their former enemy was most certainly alive, and even looked, for lack of a better term, bizarrely, almost unnervingly, _human. _He had been a wild maelström of chaos, grandiose speeches and megalomania during New York's alien fiasco, and now he was sitting quietly in a tree with a cat...poptart...creature. There was no loud speech demanding subjugation of humanity, there was no invading armada of creepy space-insects here to devour the city like cockroaches roaming a garbage heap, and he looked almost terrifyingly _calm._

Steve knew how to fight the enemy. He knew how to distract, to restrain, to slowly but surely take down the opposition until the battle had ended and the people could rejoice as the evils of the world were taken away to judged and punished for their crimes.

He did _not _know how to deal with a former enemy who seemed perfectly nonchalant with the fact that he was in the middle of the city that he'd nearly obliterated, a former enemy who wore regular clothes and apparently owned a pet cat.

"This like something out of the Twilight Zone or something. I'm not drunk enough to deal with this, I'm _not_."

Steve turned to give Tony a mildly reproving glare at the mention of alcohol. Tony, for his part, appeared completely unfazed by said glare.

"I'm not kidding, Cap, this is just wierd. I can deal with Reindeer Games when he's going for world domination while dressed for the space Viking version of an S-n-M club, I've got nothing for how to deal with...with _this_."

The formerly frozen soldier could sympathize with the confusion. This was not something covered in their protocol.

"So...what do we do, then? I mean, he's not actually destroying anything or hurting anyone..."

The billionaire shrugged his shoulders, brow furrowing in thought. "Technically, since he's still listed as legally dead by S.H.I.E.L.D., I don't think we can do anything."

This did not sit well with the archer perched high up on the roof. "He may be registered as dead, Tony, but he's still a war criminal. We're entitled to kick his ass, he's on Earth after he nearly turned New York into rubble, for god's sake!"

"You're just sore because he had you brainwashed."

"I've got every right to be pissed off for that, and you know it! How'd you like someone in your head, telling you to help them with their lunatic plans, forcing you to help build their goddamn-!"

"Barton, _stop._"

Steve didn't like to give a command to his friend, but it was necessary.

It had only been for a split second, but Tony's eyes had flickered with the memory of something _horrible_, his skin turning a shade paler.

He'd seen more than enough men during war suffer from memories of things they wanted desperately to forget experiencing, things no man should have to have gone through.

He didn't know what Tony had experienced to leave him with that sickeningly haunted look, but he knew better than to ask about something painful, breaching a closely gaurded privacy.

But that didn't mean he couldn't step in if someone went too far.

Clint fell silent after a moment, sharp eyes registering the slight headshake of _enough _from Steve.

Natasha's attention, meanwhile, was focused elsewhere: namely, the original subject of their debriefing.

Loki's pale fingers rubbed the cat's short, folded ears with a deceptively gentle air, smoothing down stray hairs. The feline's purring became stronger, head tilting upwards as a little strawberry-pink tongue darted out to lick at the thin digits affectionately. A soft, almost unnoticable chuckle chimed in the air as the god looked on at his feline companion, a hint of affection in the ancient green gaze.

This affection promptly vanished as, with a sudden, sharp _thwackkkk_, Clint loosed an arrow, shooting the explosive-tipped projectile at hair-raising speed at their target.

There was no hostile reaction. The god did not bother to rise from his perch, or even look up. He simply vanished, the air around him shimmering like a heat mirage for a split second as he disappeared, the cat-creature scrambling up from his lap to his arms immediately.

Clint blinked in confusion and quickly mounting rage as his would-be "pin-cushion" seemingly blinked out of existance, before letting out a stream of curse words as he realized that the god had left him a parting gift.

Safely relocated to the rooftop of an apartment building on the other side of the park, Loki felt a smirk dance around the edges of his mouth as his scrying spell revealed the reddening, anger-filled visage of Clint as the archer took in the sight of his arrow supply replaced by several dozen candy cane sticks, the new bubble-gum pink dye marring his previously brown hair, and the huge, flashing neon sign (which, judging by the casino insignia at the bottom, had been shamelessly whisked from Las Vegas) hanging in midair before him blaring the words _TOO SLOW. BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME, HMM?_

The trickster hummed in contentment, vanishing silently along with his armload of cat as a shriek of "_LOKI, YOU BASTARD__!_" echoed through Central Park.


	3. Home is where the cat is

**A/N: And kitty makes part 3. I didn't think I would get so much positive response to such a strange idea, but I'm quite happy with the results. **

**NOTE: I honestly have no proper idea how a legally "dead" alien ex-prince would find his bearings on the world he tried to conquer only a short while earlier, but it's Loki, and he wouldn't be Loki if he didn't have a backup plan... for the backup plan... of his extra backup plan. Given that he'd have his magic (we all know he'd find a way to keep and use it, one way or another), he'd be able to settle down and find a nice little niche somewhere for himself, and then figure out where he wants to go from there.**

**Also, the building where our resident mischief god has "set up shop", so to speak, is partially based upon Charles Xavier's home for mutants, as well as the wonderful little bed-and-breakfast inn I stayed in while I was in Wales last summer. The design of both the interior and exterior of _this_ building, as well as the design of Loki's little "hole in the wall" apartment, is of my own design.**

**I may be rather late now to have seen it, but the BBC's 2009 rendition of Shakespeare's _Hamlet _has, as of last Wednesday (and finished as of this Tuesday), at last graced my eyes, as well as the lovely news of the recent Shakespearian performances at the Globe Theatre. This chapter thus results from the surge of energy and glorious, angst-riddled madness that it, and the terrifying glory of the combined acting skills of the men who played the good doctor, the 10th Doctor, and the Norse God of Mischief, gave to me.**

**If this chapter seems a bit too non-crackish for you, don't worry, it's only to establish back story. The next chapter will have our dear trickster running around with the poptart-kitty and turning Midgard upside-down soon enough.**

* * *

Considering the magic he'd spent to add the new changes to his former minion's appearance, Loki felt slightly tired as he teleported off the rooftop and into a hidden back alley of downtown Manhattan. Looking down to check on the cat in his arms, he felt a flicker of affection as he noted in amusement that his pet seemed even more tired than he himself felt, blinking up with sleepy eyes and letting out a little yawn.

"Come along, then," he murmured quietly. "To home, we go."

The only answer was a soft _mmmrrrrrrr_ as his furry companion cuddled up to his chest, the large round eyes blinking sleepily.

The god felt the corners of his mouth quirk upwards, threatening to become a full-blown grin at the sweet sight. It had been a long, long, long time, it seemed, since anyone had given him such unspoilt, absolute trust, such readily given affection.

He relentlessly pushed back the little, annoyingly insistent voice that whispered that such assumptions held an exception.

The exception thought he was dead, after all.

Forcing his mind to turn to less touchy subjects, Loki let his magic run through him, saturating his body with energy, and opened his eyes when the transformation was complete.

Loki had been a god of many talents to the people of Midgard back in the olden days, when he had been among those worshipped. Even if not all the old tales were true, there was still a grain of truth concerning some of his powers.

Of all his gifts, shapeshifting was among the most useful, now more than ever.

The cat in Loki's arms looked up, completely calm as he took in the sight of his owner-turned-secretary. Clad in a charcoal-grey pencil skirt, a long-sleeved powder blue blouse, and grey sheer stockings with comfortable mary jane flats, Loki, who now currently resembled an upscale female secretary with a thick man of golden curls, now looked even farther removed from his previous incarnation. His cat was also in on the disguise, having been given a mild illusion charm which left anyone other than Loki himself seeing only a large to-go tray with a neatly folded stack of white napkins and several containers of premium hot coffee.

Walking out of the alley with his pet in his arms, the god hummed quietly, content with his deception. The cat leaned back, pressing close as the large eyes slipped shut for a nice long nap.

Earlier on, if he'd wanted to, Loki could have simply teleported himself all the way back to his new abode. However, the magic he'd used to prank his former minion had left him lacking to reserves needed to teleport such a distance. Instead, a smaller quantity of magic could be used to hide his identity as he travelled. Disguises were among his more versed magics, a small flicker of energy being the primary expense in comparison to the sizable chunk that would be required to go directly home.

Almost idly, he wondered for a moment what the expression on the humans' faces would be if he lifted this pretense and showed himself.

_They probably would become frightened, some might run screaming, others would call for help, and in the end I would have the Avengers coming after me for the second time today. There is only so much of their company I can endure in 24 hours, and that muzzle is **never **coming near me again._

As he continued to walk, down streets and street corners, across streets and walkways, past parks and shops and tangled snarls of apartment buildings, the disguise changed itself time and time again accordingly. By the time the god had walked past several department stores, a half dozen coffee shops, two parking lots, and a recreational park, his magic had left the people of Midgard seeing not only a secretary, but also several different businessmen, multiple appropriately dressed European and Canadian tourists, and a college student or two.

Several times, he felt eyes staring at him, though it was not out of fear and horror that their would-be ruler was among them. His disguise was too well woven for recognition to dawn, too intentionally simple for anyone to give him anything more than a brief passing glance before he faded from memory.

His appearance was instead noticed for a different reason: the simple, natural feeling of body appreciation. Disguised or not, Loki's pride was still strong enough to make itself known that he have a somewhat dignified air, a certain elegance of body language, if not entirely in looks.

The fact that his pet would be woken up if he cursed every human who shamelessly stared at a consistently attractive disguise was the only thing keeping him from letting loose a little magic and giving a terrible fright to the crush of humans milling around him on the sidewalks and streets.

He did _not_ want his pet upset with him. The little furry menace would be _unbearable. _The big eyes would water with tears of betrayal, there would be pitiful mewing, the kitchen would have little paw prints tracking water or flour or mud all over the countertop, their home would be subject to hairballs and little mice and bird carcasses in inopportune places. There would be no ear-rubs, no purring, no shameless demands to be held and petted and given Eskimo kisses. Loki would not have a warm, soft, furry, purring pillow curled up by his heart at night to keep out the chill that never seemed to go away otherwise, no matter how many blankets and comforters he piled on.

_No, definitely cannot upset him. _

It was strange now, to think that his life had changed so much within the space of only a few Midgardian years.

He had gone from a palace, to the Void, to the deadscape of Chitauri space, to Midgard, back to Asgard (this time to a cell), then to the cracks between realms, and then to Midgard again, then to Asgard again, then finally ending once more at Midgard.

He had gone from being a prince, to a man left for dead, to the leader of an army not even fully his own, to a prisoner in the world he'd grown up in, to an escapee, and then to being left for dead in a realm over a thousand stars away.

Loki had accepted, if only for that brief moment, that he would die there, on a barren moon of a world, choking on his own blood, held in the arms of someone he both loved and hated more than anyone else in all the Nine Realms. He had focused in those last moments, and with the last of his strength, and managed to force a painful, bittersweet truth past blood-stained liar's lips.

The god had not thought he would survive, and a self-loathing part of what tattered, blood soaked silken flag remained of his spirit had wondered in the brief, painful moment if he even deserved to.

Yet it seemed that the Norns still spun his thread even there in the darkness. He survived, albeit barely.

Now...he was living among the humans...and at the beck and call of a _cat._

By now, he had accumulated enough energy to teleport himself the rest of the way home. Ducking into the restroom of the nearest coffee shop, there was a faint _crack _as he vanished from the lavatory stall, instantly transported upstate to the countryside miles and miles away.

What better place to hide, after all, then where one was least expected? No one would think to find the person who had attempted world domination to live all the way out _here._

Approaching his destination, the mad god shivered as memories welled up...

* * *

_Upon that dusty, darkened plane of existence, Loki's still, cold form choked, sputtered like a candle in the gloom, and the dark prince had woken up from the arms of Death with a lie on his tongue and blood choking its way upwards in his aching throat. His body ached and burned in a thousand different places, but the stab wound he had received was no longer bleeding, already starting to fade and knit together as his magic, his one, true, faithful aide, slowly worked to heal him._

_Unable to die properly even for a second time, the fallen god coughed up blood for several moments, then spared himself a surge of anger as he realized that he was alone. Thor and his mortal scientist had long since left him. The anger only lasted a moment. There was no point in wasting his emotions on the long gone. _

_When the guard came to fetch the body, Loki had knocked him unconscious, pocketed his shrunken body with what magic he could muster, assumed his form for his own and gone to see the Allfather, inwardly marveling at the ludicrous position of having to deliver his own apparent demise._

_The lack of emotion shown upon the ancient visage would have once enraged him, but as he looked at Odin from behind the eyes of the face he'd borrowed, the only emotion he could find was frigid acceptance._

_Briefly, he'd considered revealing himself, and attacking while the shock of the revelation kept the old king unmoving. He could kill him, assumed his appearance for himself, and rule while wearing his once-father's face, the people being none the wiser so long as he disposed of the corpse and kept up the ruse. _

_He could be king again._

_But then a soft call had reverberated around the room, light as a sunbeam across the earth. "Odin, my love, what is it?"_

_Loki had long since come to accept, if not embrace, the understanding that he had no heart. Monsters do not have the capacity for such things. _

_But the sweet song of that voice was the only exception since his incarceration that continued to remind him otherwise. _

_There she was, a little paler, a bit thinner, and with a handmaiden standing behind her in case she fell, but Frigga Allmother still looked as welcoming and lovely as ever to him. In that brief moment, he watched as Odin turned to her, and spoke of their once-son's death._

_Her expression crumpled like a flower wilting in unbearable heat, warm eyes sparkling with tears sharp and glittering as crystal. Odin approached her, reaching out to put a hand to one of her slender shoulders, and in that split second he suddenly seemed much less like an indifferent king, and much more like an old, old man, one who held the entire weight of his years all at once, and could barely hold it back from crushing him._

_A sickening sense of shame surged through him, brief yet brutal, as the vague sense that he was intruding upon something private, sacred. He suddenly felt like a child again, witnessing his once-parents comfort one another in that regal semblance of polite emotional restraint demanded of royalty. _

_It was there and then gone, like a flicker of sound across static. Bitter, thudding pain, familiar and dull as a heartbeat, __welled up like poisoned ichor from his still healing wounds, and he felt suddenly as if it was hard to breathe. Shuddering in his borrowed skin, Loki managed to come back to himself enough to force out a request for dismissal. The vague wave he received was enough to send him out of the room as fast as dignity allowed, __and then he was running, running, running..._

_He managed to teleport the guard whom he'd impersonated, leaving the unconscious form in the darkened hallways of a wing several floors down, just barely maintaining enough composure to wipe the man's memories clean of the events of earlier. _

_Loki, taking flight as fast as he dared, hurried__ to get to his old passageways out of the palace, unwilling to let himself, even in this borrowed skin, be seen by the other residents of the royal halls. He did not want to face the eyes which his mind, clouded by sentiments he'd previously thought buried, insisted would hold that same sickening sense of pity._

_Indifference, coldness, hatred, disgust, all guises upon faces which he had known as well as his words. Such bitter sentiments he could abide. having stroked such feelings into blazing witchfire for centuries by only being himself. _

_Pity? Affection, in spite of all his actions? Kindness, even, for the cuckoo-child, the rotted apple, the madman?_

_Loki had gone so long without such dainties that it was difficult to imagine he would be given any. The sentimental drivel of brotherhood and reason and times long gone bleated by Thor did not count, could **not** count, not when he had borne the brunt of a lifetime of degradation, of humiliation, of dislike both pitifully masked and disgustingly exposed, of living in the shadow of the golden light of Thor, of Asgard._

_"Come home!" What home? Where did he belong? _

_Did he ever belong?_

_A shadow has no place in the warm light of day._

_A spell has no place amongst the broadswords, the axes, the swords, the bows and arrows, the hammers and javelins and slingshots._

_A tongue of silver has no place among those of brass, of bronze, of gold that glowed too brightly, too gaudily, to let the pale one shine._

_A moon will wax and wane, eternally feeble in comparison to the glittering inferno of the bright, shining sun._

_Loki had no place in Asgard. He never quite fit in, like a puzzle piece from another set, and now, in death, he was cast adrift._

_So, then, what was his path now? A dead man is bereft of purpose, save to rot away quietly, unseen, in the dirt. To the rest of the universe, he was considered, once again, dead. _

_Loki did not intend to fulfill that purpose. A god, even a fallen one, even a half-mad, outcast, misfit one, desired better._

_Where, then, should he go?_

_The Nine Realms would offer him no quarter, not after all his actions had led to destruction, terror, and fear._

_But...Midgard, despite his recent actions of attempted conquest, might prove nonetheless a refuge. They had shown little to no defense against his magic. _

_He could cloak himself, shield his would-be abode from the Gatekeeper's gaze with spells. He could find a niche for himself upon that strange, small world, use his magic and his words to pass himself off as one of the many humans who wandered those lands, and none would have to be the wiser. He could not be judged, punished, discarded, if he was considered dead._

_None but his once-family (or was it still family, after all this time?) would possibly mourn him. Asgard would undoubtedly celebrate the eternal disappearance of that shadowed dark blight of a sorcerer within their gilded halls._

_Reaching the edges of Asgard's citadel, Loki took a small moment of time to stand upon the wall ringing the city in golden fire, turning around for a second to gaze one last time upon the home-that-never-was, the glittering cage of light and ten million bittersweet memories of a stolen life. Tears burned traitorously in green eyes, and he wiped them away before they could fall._

_Turning back to face the mountains, he reached inside himself, straining for a few tendrils of flickering magic, and felt it wash over him, cool and cleansing, as he regained the form he'd worn for nearly all his existence. _

_The change lasted only a moment, and then the form standing upon the wall vanished, flickering out of sight like a candle snuffed out by the wind._

* * *

Loki snapped out of his musings. He looked up at the tall, cozy, slightly off-kilter building of old red brick and cement, drinking in the sight of the rose bushes and old, flower-filled garden that surrounded the front lawn, the grass deep green and wet with dew, strewn with wildflowers and clumps of greyish mushrooms. The weeping willow trees surrounding the grounds swayed and bobbed in the breeze fluttering through chilly air, the soft shushing noises of the branches seeming to welcome him. The brick chimney of the building's common room was puffing out smoke, and the stained-glass windows of the apartments glowed from within with cheerful golden light.

It was early evening, and the tiny, winking golden light of fireflies fluttered about his knees as he continued on his way.

Slowly, silently savoring the feeling of being able to approach the small piece of this world that he could relax in, the god passed through the whitewashed kissing-gate entryway, pale fingers gently trailing along the deep green ivy clinging lovingly to the wood. Walking up the old path to the building entrance, Loki took a moment to drink in the sight of the large, heavy wooden doors, the reddish-brown wood and shining brass door knockers, before he pulled out a pair of old, knobbly black keys from his pocket.

Each resident had two keys, one to get into the building, and one for their chosen apartment within it. His pet often liked to play with them, causing Loki no end of trouble in ensuring that the keys were not ferreted out of his pockets and batted around like a toy.

_Such is life, when you're owned by a cat._

The saying itself was rather odd; he'd never once wanted to owned by anyone, though he'd never quite belonged, either. But he'd found that, at least here on Midgard, that when one lived with a cat, the cat influenced many decisions, leaving the question of ownership in the feline's favor.

Loki had never thought being "owned" by your own pet could be considered a form of penance, but perhaps this was the Norns' way of fiddling with his string of fate after the failed attempt to rule the world he now lived in.

Down several narrow hallways, up a winding, rickety wooden staircase with a floral rug, a turn left, and then finally both god and cat reached their destination: a tall, narrow wooden door that took up the entire width of the narrow hallway. Loki's senses tingled as he felt the air, saturated with the magic of his home's protective wards, waver and warp around him.

The door was unlocked, and then shut behind them within moments, and Loki let out a deep sigh of satisfaction as he took in the welcoming sight of the shelves full of old books, the armchair with the thick quilt, the soft rug on the floor. The apartment whirled to life as he stepped across the threshold, his new book flying over to the table by his chair, the kettle put on and puffing away merrily as loose-leaf tea poured down into the infuser, incense sticks lighting up and emitting soft whorls of musky, earthy smoke into the air as soft light from self-lighting jars of crackling green flame illuminated the tiny cluster of rooms.

His new home may be rather small, even by Midgard's standards, but it is home nonetheless, because it is here that he can feel safe, and calm, and even somewhat content.

Curling up in his armchair and summoning a bone china teacup to rest beside him, Loki reclined in contentment, his pet immediately settling down to take his rightful place on the god's lap, stretching out with claws kneading the fabric of the quilt in lazy circles. Alabaster fingers stroked the soft, triangular ears as a soft wave of the hand gave leave for milk to pour down from the porcelain creamer into the steaming, golden ambrosia in the fluted cup.

Taking a slow sip, Loki hummed quietly as he relished the solace of his surroundings and company. The cat purred in response, nuzzling the lukewarm flesh of the god's midsection.

_It's good to be home._


	4. Grumpiness, Nostalgia, and Bye Bye Birdy

**A/N: I apologize for the lack of recent updates. School has become even more demanding, and I've been trying to get my work and class schedules for next year sorted out. My chosen field of work is proving to be putting my brain through its' paces, but forensics is far too interesting to give up on. **

**To mentally unwind, and to make up for my lag in chapters, here's part 4. Please enjoy this glimpse at the mind-bending, physics-defying magical insanity our God of Mischief and his little pet can get up to when he's not concerned with world domination! **

**About the cat's name: The name itself (or so the internet tells me) is Germanic in origin, combining the word "adel" (noble) with "hraban" (dark, raven) to create "dark and noble". Loki would only want an _interesting _name for his pet, after all...even if the name can also be taken as a jab at Loki's horned helmet.**

**WARNING: This chapter contains flashbacks of animal abandonment, and may or may not inspire feelings of sympathy for the subject of the abandonment in question, and also the mandatory-for-this-universe Loki-feelings that go along with it. **

* * *

The rest of the night was spent reading, and when he'd climbed into bed, his pet had curled up in his arms, rubbing a soft, furry cheek against the god's left collarbone. Sleep came easily.

When Loki awoke the next morning, the sun was a pale, champagne-gold coin outside his window, floating in a nest of greyish-white clouds. Birds chirped, in that universally annoying way done in mornings, and his pet...

His kitty wasn't there. Loki's sleep-fogged mind (a still somewhat unfamiliar state, given the many years of being constantly alert during hunting, battling, and training) registered the absence with a sour note, as pale hands automatically began reaching about, checking to see if his pet had simply moved a little farther away on the bed.

Several minutes of searching yielded nothing, save for a few handfuls of crisp white sheets and green-gold quilt fabric, and the god let out a groan of annoyance at the unfortunate find. Waking up in a warm bed, content and safe, and with a wake up nuzzle by his only real companion was _not _a luxury he planned to give up.

_Perhaps he woke up and felt hungry, and decided to go wait by his food bowl. Yes, that must be it._

Loki would not otherwise find it easy to forgive the terrible transgression of being left to wake up alone because of a bowl of premium cat food. The bed was always cold and lonely without the warm, comforting presence of his furry housemate to cradle close.

_Nothing to be done about it now, except to check and see if he's somewhere else in our quarters._

Taking a moment to breathe in deeply, Loki's eyes fluttered closed as he let his magic seep out in tendrils, gently extending through his small domain in search of the only other inhabitant, reaching out for that soft, welcoming aura that always felt like warm sunshine and was tinged with the feeling of ozone and fresh blood, presumably from the most recent "present" of a dead bird on the kitchenette's countertop.

Loki had memorized the aura of his pet from the very beginning, when he'd come to Midgard after his "death" in Svartalfheim several months ago. Now, as he found his cat curled up beside the porcelain food bowl with a pout on the chubby face, clearly stating _feed me!_, he was reminded of how he'd come across him in the first place...

* * *

_Forging a false identity and records had proved, while not truly difficult, nonetheless mentally exhausting. Choosing a home had not been the easiest of decisions, given that Thor still resided on Earth and the thunder god knew enough of his habits to potentially find him, but in the end, Loki had chosen a place of his own that would allow him to remain relatively close to New York City, enough so that he could occasionally check to see if his former opponents still harbored enough dislike to throw him off their world if he was ever found._

_It wasn't because he would remain somewhat close to his once-brother. It was only so he could monitor him and his comrades and see if they'd come close to discovering him, that was honestly it. _

_Loki, while good at lying to others, was loathe to admit that he wasn't as good at lying to himself. _

_But the world still turned, the stars still twinkled as they were extinguished a million miles away, and Loki was still in need of a place of his own, if he was to reside here. The keys to his new apartment were handed over without fuss, and his neighbors in the building he now would live in were, while not overly friendly, polite and accommodating, and that was all the god needed. _

_Unfortunately, his new abode did not come equipped with food, and while Loki could use his magic to create his furniture and money, he was not able to use it to conjure food, or at least, food that he would find palatable. _

_So, after giving his new quarters some simple furnishings and pocketing some money, Loki managed to get directions from one of his new neighbors as to where the nearest grocery store was, cast a simple notice-me-not charm over himself, __and teleported to the location accordingly. _

_Living in Asgard for nearly his entire life had not exposed the ex-prince to many varieties of food, given that the majority of meals consisted of fruits, heavy stews, vegetable and meat dishes, and pint after pint of mead or wine. Thus, Loki found himself uncertain as to what to buy, and eventually leaving with several bags of vegetables and a shank of meat in plastic-wrap, feeling decidedly exhausted and wishing that Midgard didn't have so many ridiculous food choices. _

_As he walked out of the store, the day outside had meanwhile turned into a raging thunderstorm, complete with lightning and crashes of thunder fit to wake the dead, and Loki became drenched to the bone with frigid rainwater, just barely managing to conjure up the water-repelling charm needed to keep his groceries dry in time._

_The god found his temper reach its' breaking point of the day. Inwardly swearing, he'd glared at the offending, cloud-filled sky and wondered if it was worth alerting Thor to his presence on Midgard if it meant clearing up the aggravating tempest overhead. His magic coiled like a snake within him, ready to strike at a moments' notice to deliver a vicious counterattack..._

_But before he could change the weather, Loki heard a sharp mewl of discomfort, just barely audible over the thunderous din. Finding his interest momentarily piqued, he turned towards the direction of the noise, and found that it led into the alley next to the grocery store. Walking into the narrow space, he'd found a lopsided, soggy cardboard box left next to a dumpster and recycling bin, the words **FREE CAT **written in crooked, sloppy handwriting on the side with permanent marker._

_The creature, thin fur matted with grime and completely soaked by the rain, wasn't actually a fully-grown cat, as the advertising would suggest, but a feline just barely past kittenhood, and still small enough to fit in one of Loki's hands. Large, dark eyes looked up at the god with an oddly challenging stare, as if unwilling to admit defeat here, abandoned and cold, in a side-alley during a storm and no covering whatsoever._

_Loki found himself approaching the box carefully, hands held out placatingly, though he wasn't quite sure why. He had seen several abandoned animals during his previous stint on Midgard, and no humans had so much as batted an eyelash. But he'd grown up watching his once-mother tending her own chariot-pulling cats as lovingly as one would with treasured pets, giving them naught but the best._

_This one, unfortunately, had not been so lucky. Yet, the eyes that stared balefully up at him were not the sobbing, tear-soaked eyes of the defeated, but the brave gaze of a warrior standing alone, unwilling to let everything go and die, even in the face of being left for that grisly purpose. _

_Loki stared into the dark pools, and found in them a kindred spirit. _

_The god reached into the box, noting with disgust that there wasn't so much as a scrap of blanket to offer consolation in the face of abandonment, and scooped the tiny feline out of the box._

_"Let's go home," he said, and in that moment his new charge butted a tiny, damp head against his palm in affirmation. _

_Several days had been spent tending to his new housemate, drying and warming the tiny body, offering warm milk, giving scratches behind the ears, and getting as much information about taking care of the soft, furry creature as he could from neighbors, who waved aside his half-hearted excuses for "bothering" them and offered him some cat toys and recommendations for a check-up at the vet's. To his faint surprise, he'd found his new pet's coat was a dark, cloudy grey, short-haired but soft, and the eyes were a bluish-grey, like the thunderstorm he'd been found in, of a shade so dark as to seem black unless he looked closely. _

_The result was well worth the effort. The little creature, whom he'd named Adelram for his dark eyes and sleekly-maintained coat, became affectionate and rather cheerful, batting at his toys and nuzzling the god's shoulder whenever he demanded to be picked up and held._

_Though well-behaved around the humans who occasionally would be passed by or greeted in their apartment building, Loki found his pet was most interested in Loki himself, following him everywhere, a tiny, furry shadow that claimed his lap and purred like an engine, often nipping at pale fingers, and, to the god's mixed amusement and exasperation, being prone to bringing home dead mice and birds when Loki left the windows open, presenting his kills to his owner with the sharp, eager furvor of a job well done. Given that the blood and bones ould occasionally be useful in helping strengthen their home's protective wards, the offerings were accepted, and the god would often replenish the wards while his pet sat beside him, crunching avian skulls like Midgardian candy as soft paws batted at Loki's hair._

* * *

Now, several months of kitty-therapy had left Loki several degrees calmer, but nonetheless prone to the occasional relapse of distemper and mischief. Waking up to find his pet was not nearby to give him a good morning cuddle was not doing any wonders for his mood.

Reaching into the kitchenette's dry goods cupboard, he pulled out a tin of salmon-flavoured cat food and emptied the contents into the bowl. "Ade, come eat your breakfast."

Adelram gave his owner a pleading look and batted his paws at the god's pajama pants.

"No, do _not_ give me that look. I woke up cold and lonely because of you, I'm not giving you any belly rubs right now."

The cat's eyes widened, looking dangerously close to emitting a waterfall of tears.

_No, I must remain strong. Must...not..._

A pitiful mewl was given. Loki felt his restraint crumble, much to his self-disgust.

"_Fine_, you ridiculous creature. But eat your food first, I will not have you complaining of hunger pains all morning."

Adelram cooed happily at his victory, padding over to his food bowl to tuck into the food with large, noisy gulps. Turning his attentions away from his feline companion, Loki cast a summoning charm to bring in the day's newspaper from the downstair's communal mail cubbyholes as he began making himself breakfast.

One small baked Florentine omelet and several cups of tea with milk later, the God of Mischief lowered his newspaper onto the table, a smirk beginning to form.

_I've not been having a very good morning, why not liven it up a bit? Those Avengers already spotted me yesterday, why not get a bit of enjoyment out of my little... ressurection hobby?_

Adelram, having finished with his own breakfast, promptly leapt into his owner's lap and began butting his head against the god's arm, demanding to be petted. Feeling in a much better mood, Loki obliged, stroking the feline behind the ears and humming Tchaikovsky's _Piano Concerto No. 1_ under his breath as plans began to form.

"We're going to need several bags of chicken feathers, a widespread sticking charm, and a map of the city of New York's underground..."

* * *

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Tony Stark gave the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. a deadpan stare, wishing he'd had the foresight to grab an extra-large cup of hot coffee and the last donut.

"You're telling me Loki did _what _now? It's too early in the morning for jokes, Nicky."

"This isn't a joke, Stark. Now suit up and get down to Time's Square's 42 Street and Port Authority Bus Terminal, those giant chickens need to be contained!"

"Are you sure KFC hasn't filed a report saying a shipment of chicken's gone missing...?"

"NOW, STARK!"


End file.
